Responsibility
by Amac xx
Summary: I can't let you do that, she whispered pathetically. II'm supposed to be the responsible one. Casey reflects on being responsible, and why she'd rather stop. Oneshot. [Teenage drinking]


**Responsability**

_Casey reflects on being responsible, and why she'd rather stop._

---

Casey generally didn't go to parties.

After all, she was the responsible one. She was _always _the responsible one. Even when Lizzie had been little, and her father had left them. Her mother had cried too much- far, far too much- to take care of either of them. Casey didn't mind being the responsible one, especially when Nora had given her that smile, the smile that showed she was proud. Nora - before the divorce - was pulled together, effortlessly sophistacted without seeming pretentious, and Casey had envied that.

But today, Casey was pretty much sick of being responsible, sick of trying to be someone in control, because she wasn't. She was just pretending. Make believe stuff, like when she was a kid. And make believe, even if for a moment, slips away and you can see whats really going on- a girl in a tiara isn't a princess, or a boy wearing those cowboy boots cannot be a cowboy. They aren't right. Look at whats wrong with this picture. The girls wearing sneakers or the boy has a polo shirt and its just little things, but it still doesn't jazz.

Casey doesn't jazz.

She's drunk, she's underdressed, and she isn't quite sure whose house she is at.

Emily had convinced her to come to the party, and then abandoned her. Casey didn't really blame her- she wouldn't want to hang out with herself, either. She was boring, a klutzilla, and a grade grubber, among other less savoury things. Emily tried to be a good friend- she'd even help her pick out her clothes; tight black jeans that shimmered in the light, and a black spaghetti tank top that followed her curves, showed her belly and dipped into her cleavage.

She did look good. Casey looked good, she was drunk, and still: no one had approached her.

There was two ways to look at it. Either she was such a boring, irritating person that even when wasted and dressed in a completely different fashion she was still unbearable, or it was Derek's fault that people kept away from her like the plague. Casey desperately wished it was the second one, but she, more inclined to truth, would have guessed 'A'.

When Daddy had left, she had promised herself she would be every thing he wasn't. Predictable, smart, organized... responsible. All those things continually bit her in the ass- with Derek's help.

Swaying her hips to the beat, Casey took another sip from the plastic red cup. Beer, she had decided after the fourth or fifth one, wasn't half bad. At first, it tasted like you were drinking someone else's piss, but after a while, you got used to it. And, the effects were nice, she added, a sloppy grin crossing her features.

When she felt a bruising grip on her arm, she was so suprised half her drink sloshed out of her cup onto the floor. It was a suprise to be noticed- she had been standing by the wall for nearly 45 minutes, drinking beer and thinking her strange, muddled drunken thoughts. Everybody had left her to them.

When she looked to see who finally had interrupted them, her blue eyes narrowed. It _would _be him. The one person who actually would approach her... but only to torment her. Drawing herself up, and yanking her arm out of his hand, "What are you doing?" Casey was suprised to see Derek was pissed. Usually, he had a smug little grin on his face, especially after teasing Casey. He never was rattled. Hmm. "You spilled my drink!" To excentuate this disturbing fact, she took her drink and swallowed the little left in it. "Now I have to get more."

Before she could go, his hand was on her arm again, grip like steel. "You," he hissed, "Are going no where. When Dad and Nora find out about this tomorrow..."

_Oh. So he's mad about me,_ Casey nearly burst out laughing. "What? How will they find out? You?" Her look was pointed, and he had the grace to look sheepish- and then it disappeared. "You, of long drinking and random encounters with strange girls in strange places." Now her laugh turned bitter. "Me? When I want to take a little drink or have fun, people start freaking out." _Not,_ she added in her head_, that I do it often. _

He rolled his eyes. "I'm taking you home," was his only reply, and when she tried to protest, she felt her legs buckle underneath her. Oh. Maybe she was more drunk then she realized.

"I can't let you do that," she whispered pathetically. "I-I'm supposed to be the responsible one."

Even on her night off, she could feel the role caging her in, claustraphobia making her sweat. She didn't want to be responsible, didn't want the job, but be it as it may, the job was hers. She hated failing, and if her mother found out... Tears pricked her eyes, she she swore. Derek would be the one who saw her like this, at her weakest.

But her heart fluttered a little, even in her severe hated at him, when he smiled. Not smirked, smiled, and whispered, smoothing her hair slightly and he led her out the crowded party, "You don't have to always be responsible."

And she realized... Derek was right.


End file.
